After having a delicious brunch at a local hotel, they wandered through the town on foot for a while. They had just stepped out of one of the many delightful little galleries and were arguing the merits of the featured artist whose works they had just studied in detail. Genae liked them; Brian thought they were too derivative.
A smattering of other tourists moved slowly around them, pausing to gaze at the eclectic merchandise displayed in the shop windows. The high heat and humidity made the air feel a bit thick, as if it required a bit of effort to push through it. Genae was accustomed to Arkansas summer temperatures, of course, but she could spot a lot of the tourists who were having a bit more difficulty ignoring the broil-factor.
“So what would you like to do next?” Brian asked. “A bath house tour? The wax museum? Or we could rent a boat and take it out on Lake Ouachita or...”
“Magic Springs,” Genae cut in, because it could take him a while to list all the possibilities available to them.
Brian’s eyebrows rose, “The amusement park?”
She nodded, “I like to eat park junk food and ride the roller coasters.”
“In that order?” He chuckled, “Sounds a little dangerous.”
“Only for someone with a weakling’s stomach,” she scoffed.
“Okay, if you want junk food and thrill rides, then that’s what you’ll have. Never say I don’t--”
The rest of his words were lost in a crash so loud it reverberated through Genae’s body. One minute Brian was standing at her side, and the next he was gone. Spinning toward the street to look for him, she gasped in dismay at the sight of a twisted pile of metal in the four-lane intersection.
It looked as though a big SUV had run a red light and slammed into the passenger side of a smaller car. The smell of gasoline was heavy in the air, along with another, more insidious odor--smoke.
And Brian was right in the middle of it.
Only vaguely aware of the shouts and cries around her, Genae ran forward to see if she could help. She had just reached the crumpled car when Brian thrust a crying child into her arms, “Take him and get back on the sidewalk,” Brian shouted over the pandemonium.
Someone else pushed her out of the way as two strong-looking young men hurried over to assist Brian. Other spectators hovered in the background, afraid to get close to the mounting heat and smell of fuel.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Everything’s going to be all right,” Genae murmured automatically to the little boy clinging to her neck and sobbing. She guessed that he was about four years old; she had seen Brian pull him out of the left side of the car. Brian was now fully inside the car, and she couldn’t see him for the smoke and movement surrounding them.
Everyone seemed to be talking at once around her, snatches of their words drifting toward her.
“It’s going to blow up!”
“I called 9-1-1.”
“The SUV’s driver is okay. That’s him over there. Hardly looks old enough to drive, does he?”
“Sure hope that car doesn’t go up in flames while those people are still in there.”
Genae swallowed hard and tightened her hold on the child, maybe seeking comfort as much as offering it. The boy’s face was buried in her throat; she could feel wet tears against her skin, “I want my...mama,” he whimpered.
Genae patted him again, “Hang in there a minute, buddy,” she murmured, her attention still focused on that car, from which flames could now be seen quite clearly climbing up the left side from underneath.
The driver was out, being supported by one of the men who had rushed to help Brian. The woman, whom Genae assumed to be the child’s mother, was crying and trying to get back to her burning car. The young man had his hands full restraining her. Someone stepped up to help him. Other people were yelling, some motioning for bystanders to stay back, some running around in seemingly aimless circles. In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard growing louder as they moved closer.
Genae tried to remind herself that Brian hadn’t been in the car very long. Scant minutes had passed since he’d disappeared inside. It only seemed much longer.
A couple of loud pops were followed by a new spurt of flames from beneath the car. A collective gasp came from the crowd around her, and Genae felt her heart stutter. What was Brian doing? Why wasn’t he coming out?
Her vivid imagination conjured up a picture of the car exploding into a fireball with Brian trapped inside. She flinched from the awful image, telling herself fiercely that it wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. Brian wouldn’t allow it.
Her knees nearly buckled in relief when he finally emerged from the vehicle. He was immediately pulled away from the car and then surrounded by people. She’d seen that he was holding something, but the bodies between them kept her from seeing what It was. The woman who had been driving the car gave a cry and broke away from the hands that had been holding her back.
A moment later, the car was fully engulfed in flames, despite the efforts of a couple of shop owners who had appeared with fire extinguishers that they were emptying on the vehicles. Brian would have been in that fire if he’d hesitated even a little longer, Genae realized sickly.
The frantic mother was now holding a tiny bundle in her arms. She turned, searching the crowds around her, “Jamie? Jamie? Has anyone seen my son?”
The child in Genae’s arms responded immediately to the call, “Mama?”
Genae hurried toward the woman, “I have him. He’s fine.”
“Thank God.” The woman broke down into tears again.
Brian put his right hand on the woman’s shoulder, “There’s a bench beside that shop door. You should sit until the ambulance arrives.”
He spoke quietly, but Genae noted that his words were carried easily through the babbling of the crowd and the wails of the woman’s children. A police car came to a stop in the intersection, and a fire truck wasn’t far behind it. Settling Jamie more securely on her hip, Genae stayed close to his mother while Brian escorted her and the baby to the bench. The crowd automatically made way for them, of course, after only a glance from Brian.
What was it about him? Even in jeans and sneakers, his hair all tousled, and his face smudged, he still wore an air of competence and authority that people seemed to instinctively recognize and respond to.
Brian murmured something to the woman that was lost in the chaos. Genae thought she heard his name repeated several times around her, and then the police and emergency workers took over. The crowd was efficiently dispersed, the fire was extinguished, and the badly shaken woman and her children were loaded into an ambulance and taken away for observation.
A reporter from the local paper arrived, and someone mentioned Brian’s role in the rescue. Genae could hear details being embroidered as she stood there. She was greatly relieved when Brian had given his statement to the police, answered a few questions from the reporter--downplaying his own part in the rescue, of course--and then turned to Genae to say, “Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
The fervency in her reply drew a wry smile form him, “Sorry. I know how you hate being the center of attention.”
Aware of all the eyes still focused on them, she cleared her throat and fell into a quick step at his side. “Let’s just find your car.”
Brian was unusually quiet as they made their way to the parking lot, leaving the noisy gossip and street clean-up behind them. Genae was startled when he turned to her at the car and said, “Would you like to drive?”
“You’re offering to let me drive the Beamer?” She frowned at him, studying his face to determine if he was simply making a nice gesture or if there was something more to the offer. The paleness of his face and the sheen of moisture on his upper lip gave her the answer, “Where are you hurt?”
Looking him over, she saw that he was holding his left arm, which was tucked to his side; she realized now that he’d kept it there since emerging from the vehicle with the baby girl, “Let me see your arm,” she demanded.
He winced when she grabbed his wrist, “Careful.”
“Brian!” She stared in dismay at the outside of his left forearm, which was obviously burned, the skin an angry red with small blisters just becoming visible. “When did this happen?”
“I was having trouble unsnapping the buckles on the baby’s car seat. A lick of flame came up the inside of the door and I shielded her with my arm until I could get her out.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, making it sound like no big deal that he’d used his own arm as a barrier between a spreading fire and a helpless infant. And he hadn’t mentioned the injury since, even though his arm had to hurt like hell.
“Why didn’t you show this to the paramedics?” she scolded, “These burns need to be treated immediately. Do you want to get an infection? It’s a wonder you didn’t get yourself killed, diving into that car like that.”
“I saw the baby in the car seat and I knew the car was starting to burn. Would you have had me leave her in there?”
His calm question didn’t soothe her frayed nerves, “Get in the car,” she snapped. “I’m taking you to the nearest emergency room.”
“Maybe we should drive into Little Rock to get away from the attention here.”
“Little Rock is too far. You’re just going to have to deal with the attention.”
“I really think I--”
“Brian, get in the damned car!”
He sighed, “Fine.”
The sheer pleasure of driving Brian’s car was lost in her urgency to find treatment for his arm. She chewed him out almost continuously during the brief drive, and he meekly allowed her to do so. She didn’t know if he was being so agreeable because he knew she needed an emotional release from the intensity of the ordeal, or because he was in too much pain to argue with her. Nor was she sure if she was so upset because the whole incident had been so frightening--or because Brian had been hurt, and could have been killed.
Because it seemed safer to continue lecturing him than to give much more thought to her feelings for him, she started in on him again for not immediately reporting his injuries.
“I can’t believe that reporter was the first person we saw when we went into the ER.” Brian muttered, not for the first time.
“He said he’d driven straight there to check on the condition of he woman and her children. Apparently it was a slow news day.” Genae adjusted the rearview mirror of the BMW and guided the car into the left lane to pass a slower-moving car. Now that Brian’s injuries had been treated and she knew that he was going to be all right, she could enjoy the novelty of driving the gleaming black Beamer.
Brian rested his head against the high back of the tan leather seat. “Maybe the story will be confined to the local paper he works for. It probably won’t be picked up by the wire services.”
“Maybe,” she said, but she wasn’t particularly optimistic. Brian’s name alone would be enough to propel the story into national news. Add his heroic rescue of a baby in the mix, risking his own life and sustaining injuries in the process, and she could almost guarantee headlines.
He just seemed to have a special talent...
Brian plucked irritably at the bandages on his arm, “I don’t know why they had to truss me up like this. The doctor even said I wasn’t burned that badly.”
She could hear the effects of the medication that had been pumped into him; his words were just a bit slurred, his tone uncharacteristically petulant, “The doctor said you were lucky you didn’t end up with third-degree burns.”
Brian had been instructed to see his own doctor on Monday, and to take very good care of his burns to keep them from becoming infected. He’d been given painkillers and a list of instructions before being released into Genae’s care.
“Sorry about the amusement park,” Brian murmured, his eyes closed, “I know you wanted to ride the roller coasters.”
“That’s okay.”
“Rain check?”
“Sure.”
“Good. I’d like to take a wild ride with you.”
Because she wasn’t sure if that was him or the medicine speaking, she let the comment pass, “I’m just glad no one was seriously hurt in that wreck--including you,” she commented. “As violent as the impact was, I was afraid someone had been killed.”
“Might have been, if the woman and her kids hadn’t been properly restrained. She was wearing her seat belt and both kids were buckled into car seats. They were all bruised and shaken, but not hurt. The SUV’s driver--as inattentive as he was to the traffic signals--was at least smart enough to wear his seat belt.”
Brian still hadn’t opened his eyes. He was so still that she might have thought he was sleeping had he not been talking, “Rest awhile,” she said, “I’ll let you know when we’re home.”
“How can I relax when you’re driving my baby? Someone has to make sure you’re careful with her.”
She sniffed, “Go to sleep, Littrell. The meds are making you delirious.”
He chuckled, “Just be careful.”
A minute later, he was asleep.
Reaching over to make sure his seat belt was securely fastened, Genae patted his knee, “Sweet dreams, hot shot,” she murmured.
She suspected he needed his rest. She would bet that his heroic deeds that day would draw more attention than he expected.
Because she had no intention of leaving Brian alone on painkillers, Genae drove him to her own apartment so she could keep an eye on him for a few hours. He was still asleep when she parked his car next to her own in the garage. Apparently the medication he’d been given had been quite strong.
“Brian?” she said, touching his shoulder. She hoped she could rouse him; she couldn’t see herself carrying him into her apartment.
His eyes opened, “Mmm?”
“Let’s go up to my apartment, okay?”
Blinking, he glanced around, taking in their surroundings, “We’re at your place?”
“Yes. I’ll come around and help you out.”
“I can manage.” He reached over for his door handle, but didn’t get very far since he had forgotten to unbuckle his seat belt.
Shaking her head, Genae rounded the front of his car and reached for his door. She decided she’d made a good call bringing him home with her. He was still pretty loopy.
She stayed close when he stood, in case he was dizzy, but he seemed steady enough. He hissed a curse between his teeth when his left arm bumped against the car door, proving the painkillers hadn’t taken all the sensation from his wounds.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just sore.”
Neither of them said anything else on the way up to her apartment. Genae ushered him inside and closed the door behind them. “Would you like to lie down on my bed?”
“Only if you’re offering to lie down beside me.”
She gave him one of those chilly smiles she’d been practicing, “Apparently you’re still delirious from the medication.”
“Maybe...but I’m not an invalid. I don’t need to go to bed--not to rest, anyway.”
Obviously she had piqued his male ego by being a bit too solicitous. Oh, well, she wasn’t very good at that sort of thing, anyway, “How about something to eat, instead?”
He shrugged, “If I can’t have you, I suppose I’d settle for a sandwich.”
“You’re in luck. You picked one of my culinary specialties.” She waved him toward the couch, “Sit. Watch TV or something. I won’t be long.”
She heard a baseball game playing on the TV as she moved into the kitchen to make sandwiches. They ate in front of the television. Simple fare, but Brian seemed to enjoy it. Genae half expected they would root for different teams--it seemed they were always moving in opposite directions--but it turned out they were both Braves fans.
Somehow they ended up side by side on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, enthusiastically cheering their team. Genae found herself laughing often at Brian’s acerbic comments about the plays that didn’t work, the calls he disputed, or some of the more inane remarks from the announcers. If his arm was bothering him too badly, he didn’t allow it to show.
It was hard to believe that a day that had taken such a dramatic turn could end up so cozily on her couch.
There was a break in the game and a silly beer ad filled the television screen. Genae glanced at her watch, “You need to take another painkiller in a few minutes. Can I get you anything else to drink?”
“No...I still have half a can of soda left.”
“Is your arm hurting?”
He shrugged, “It’s making itself known, but it’s tolerable.”
She glanced at his bandages, “It has to hurt. I’ve burned myself before and it’s awful.”
To illustrate, she twisted her left leg and pointed to a whitish oval scar on the back of her calf, “I did this on the exhaust pipe of a motorcycle when I was sixteen and too dumb to know it was hot. That sucker hurt like hell for weeks.”
He looked intrigued, “Were you driving the bike?”
“No, I was riding on the back--barefoot and wearing shorts. I did have on a helmet.”
“That’s encouraging, I suppose. So who was driving?”
“The high school bad boy. His hair was spiked, his ears were pierced. He was the first guy I actually knew who had a tattoo. It was a skull with a snake coming from the mouth.”
“Charming...” he paused, “so did you like that? The tattoo I mean.”
She shrugged in a helpless manner, “On the right people. Yes, I guess I’ve always thought they have a certain sex appeal.”
The grin on his face only widened, as if he knew something she didn’t.
She wrinkled her nose, remembering the thrill of riding that powerful motorcycle with a boy everyone considered dangerous. She’d had to sneak around to see him, since her parents practically went into spasms everytime his name was mentioned.
Brian eyed her speculatively, “So far you’ve mentioned dating a biker and a rodeo cowboy. Drawn to the rebel type, are you?”
She looked intently at the television screen, where the baseball game was back in play, “I suppose I was--once.”
“What about Raye? Did she ever tiptoe on the wild side?”
She gave a short laugh. “Raye dated the president of the chess club. In college, her boyfriend was the vice president of the College Republicans. Jonathan is the most dangerous man she’s ever been involved with--and he’s a white-collar rebel.”
“An interesting way to describe him.”
“A former soldier turned bodyguard turned corporate executive. What would you call him?”
“I just call him my friend.”
She took a sip of her soda, then nearly spewed it across the room when she felt Brian’s fingers on her bare leg. She lowered the aluminum can to look at him, “What are you doing?”
“Just looking at your scar--in case mine ends up the same way.” He traced the outline of the scar with one fingertip--and it was all she could do not to shiver in reaction.
She tried to speak coherently, “I, uh...maybe you’ll luck out and you won’t have a scar at all.”
“I could always cover it with a tattoo...would you find that irresistibly attractive?”
She had no intention of admitting that she already came all too close to thinking of him that way, “I told you, I outgrew that sort of thing a long time ago.”
He smiled, pulling his hand from her leg to push the sleeve of his polo shirt up his arm, speaking all the while as he revealed a strongly cut bicep inked with an elaborate cross, “I guess it was my attempt to walk on the wild side.”
She nearly gulped, laying eyes intensely upon the artwork that he’d so happily produced to her, not noticing his movements until he returned to stroking her leg--very lightly, his fingertips barely grazing her skin, “What would it take for you to find me irresistible?”
“A miracle.” She snapped, shifting her weight on the couch.
He gave her a smile that should have been illegal, “I’m rather good at arranging miracles.”
As he spoke, he tickled the back of her knee, a spot she had never realized was particularly erotic--until now. A quiver ran just beneath her skin from that point of contact to the center of her abdomen. She gulped and swung her feet to the floor, “I’ll get your pills. I think you need to be medicated again.”
“I can wait a while longer.”
But she couldn’t. She needed something productive to do before her hormones mutinied against her common sense and caused her to do something really stupid.
She stood and hurried into the kitchen, thinking of how ironic it was that she had brought Brian to her apartment because she thought he needed someone to take care of him. Turned out that Brian was just as hard to handle injured as he was in perfect health.
